Sajara

50 million stops and a whole day later I finally arrived in Dakhla, officially known as the capital of the middle of fucking nowhere. After my final army checkpoint, I saw the single most appetizing advertisement of my whole life. A billboard before entering town advertising in English for the best place to rest after a long journey through the desert, The Sahara Regency Hotel. Alas, I couldn’t afford that and instead checked into the only budget hotel recommended by Lonely Planet. They lied about it being clean, but for $6.50 I got a double and picked the cleaner of the two beds, in addition to shared squat toilets and shower facilities, though at least there was hot water. So I had to squat to shit for the first time in six weeks. I almost missed it. I also saw my last Moroccan sunset over the Atlantic. After settling I had to figure out transport to Mauritania since there is no form of public transportation across the border. Literally asking around me I met Ahmed, a proud Saharawi—who scolded me for referring to it as Morrocco, I would never had done that though if I hadn’t spent the whole day trying to remind myself not to say Sahara in front of police so that I wouldn’t have any issues—who spoke shaky Spanish (for example pronouncing Sajara instead of the more Spanish Sahara with the silent “h”) and helped me find transport. FYI If you are thinking of crossing the border in Dakhla there are some random men who sit on near the plants in front of the Sahara Hotel. It was weird to be in the Sahara desert speaking Spanish, I would have expected French (and Arabic too obviously, although Ahmed also scolded for referring to as Darija or Moroccan Arabic instead of Hassaniya, the Mauritanian dialect) but never Spanish. Now I really need to go Equatorial Guinea and visit Spain’s “only” two African colonies, the scraps they got when they lost out on the “Scramble for Africa.” In return for helping me out, I bought Ahmed a sandwich (it cost $1.25, Dakhla was the cheapest place I visited on my whole trip) and he told me how he was about to get on the bus cause he has to keep it moving from the police. But if I was ever in Dakhla or Laayoune I could stay with his family, he promised. Hospitality was his duty as the people of Cuba have expressed their solidarity with the Saharawi cause. Too bad I am Dominican.